Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Why can't I just win *one*?

Why is it that nothing interesting ever comes my way on a normal day? But on a day when I end up leaving the house looking like a hot tranny mess--anything can happen!

I went to work at 8:30 this morning. Directly after work (without passing Go and without collecting $200) I had a meeting with some people about a thing. For a couple hours. Long, long hours . . . After the meeting with the people about the thing, I decided to finally go set up an account at the tanning place because the wedding is two and a half weeks away and what better time to risk burning, blistering and peeling. Am I right?

Next, sans makeup and covered in oily tanning goo, I decided to make a quick trip to Wal-Mart. (You don't even have to say it. I already know. Wal-Mart is the crux of the problem. I'm aware. Whenever I add Wal-Mart into any equation, it's like trying to multiply by zero--nothing good or positive or rational is ever going to come of it.)

I was at Wal-Mart buying flowers for a friend. Standing in line with no make-up, wearing jeans and my work T-shirt (not the most feminine garment ever engineered) and holding a bouquet of delicious roses, I suddenly thought that I probably looked (and I hope this isn't offensive) really butchy and like I was probably in trouble with my girlfriend so I was apologizing with roses.

And then I got to wondering because, darn it anyway, I'm adorable so if I'm standing there looking all gay and remorseful for having hurt my partner's feelings, why aren't all the lesbians in the store hitting on me?

And while I was mulling over my failure as a lesbian, I heard someone say my name. Not my actual name, Kristin, but the flat, tepid, defying-society-while-attempting-to-fade-into-the-junior-high-crowd name, Kris.

I am so unaccustomed to being called by that name that I didn't connect it with myself. After I heard it ring out a second time I realized I was being spoken to and turned around.

It was one of the most important people not to be seen by when one has no make-up, is covered in oily tanning goo and wearing unflattering clothes--it was a high school flame. It was Bobby. (Who, if he hadn't been the one to say hello, I never would have recognized. Because of the facial hair. And the 25 intervening years . . . )

Bobby and I had a brief relationship back in the day. We clung to each other as salve for both of our broken hearts. I don't remember how it ended (no doubt with me being a giant jerk . . . ) but I don't think there are any hard feelings. Or, if there were, it was so long ago that it's forgotten.

Standing in Wal-Mart, Bobby and I caught up for a few delightful minutes and then, when there was pretty much nothing else to say, we parted ways.

Obsessing over how craptastic I looked for this chance meeting with a ghost of relationships past, I walked quickly to my car. Or a car that looked like mine . . . that didn't respond to my remote . . . just in case I didn't already look like a big enough loser today . . . Seriously. Just one break, one time would be fanfreakingtastic!

LOL, whitenoise : ) The only problem with your math is that I'm only "hot" inside my head--not outwardly. But yeah, you're right, if I'd been on my game he might have felt so awful that it wasn't worth going on . . .